


Of Oysters and Sedition

by The_Bentley



Series: Cold Open Fictions [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Rome, Developing Friendships, Drama, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Historical, Humor, Humorous Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-22 23:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19683241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: When Crowley told Aziraphale he had nipped into Rome for a quick temptation, he was lying. He had been there for two years helping convince Emperor Caligula’s opposition to assassinate him.  Little did he know Heaven had sent Aziraphale on the exact same mission.  Are the two going to get out of this mess without ending up discorporated due to execution for treason?A continuation of the Rome 41 A.D. vignette from the TV show’s third episode cold open.





	1. Oysters at Petronious’

**Author's Note:**

> As all the stories in this series, it'll be three chapters of a thousand words each. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The humans think oysters are an aphrodisiac,” Crowley commented as Aziraphale ate his second one._
> 
> _“They can think that if they want. Besides I’m not human.”_
> 
> _“I honestly don’t know what you are. No angel would put that into their body.”_

Dubiously eyeing the plate of oysters arranged artfully in half shells on the plate between him and Aziraphale, Crowley wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to taste one. But Aziraphale did not hesitate to pick one up, tip the shell up and let the bit of slime on it slide down his throat.

Crowley’s look of disgust was not disguised by that strange darkened glass he had taken to wearing over each eye. If Aziraphale wanted to eat what looked like a lump of mucus, he could go ahead and do just that. Crowley was going to pass. He sipped at the horrid house wine, wishing it into something more palatable. 

“The humans think oysters are an aphrodisiac,” he commented as Aziraphale ate his second one.

“They can think that if they want. Besides I’m not human.” 

“I honestly don’t know what you are. No angel would put _that_ into their body.”

“They’re delightful, Crowley. Just try one.”

“I don’t eat raw meat, especially not any kind looking like it came out of someone’s nose.” Crowley looked away as Aziraphale continued feasting. “Why can’t we eat something actually _worth_ eating? The cuisine here is amazing but you choose to put those in your mouth.”

“Petronius does wonderful things with lobster, too. Order that. Or you could have the dormouse.”

“Shut up.” Crowley resented the jab at his snake form. For that he wished up a dish containing lobster just to annoy the angel. He made a show of digging into it. 

Aziraphale pointedly ignored his actions. “So, how’d the quick temptation go?”

“Mission accomplished. A couple of families will be feuding in a few days. How’d your good deed go?”

“Still working on it. The decadence here makes good deeds difficult.”

“Tell me about it. I barely have to lift a finger.” Crowley picked at his dish, selecting few chunks of lobster to eat. “It’s kind of boring, actually.”

“You could always help me do a few good deeds,” Aziraphale said facetiously. 

“No thanks. I’d rather just do my boring temptations and get on with my life. It does leave me with more time to explore the finer taverns in the area,” Crowley replied. Although maybe there was something to helping each other out. Less travel and more free time for everyone involved. The wheels in his head started turning with an idea that he’d eventually forget about until much later when he realized Aziraphale’s good deeds and his bad ones were just cancelling each other out.

Aziraphale inhaled another oyster, much to Crowley’s disgust. 

“Oh, will you stop with the faces? You don’t have to eat them.”

“No, I just have to watch you. What the hell do they taste like, anyway? Snot?”

“No. I can’t describe it, though. I find them delicious,” the angel answered primly. He stopped long enough to take a sip of wine. 

“You’ve had quite a few. How’s your libido feeling?” Crowley gave him a nasty grin. His attitude sure was matching the snake brooch pinned to his cloak.

“We don’t have libidos,” Aziraphale answered coldly. He sighed and poured himself more wine with a mental note to never invite a demon to try seafood again.

“Oh, speak for yourself. This place had me developing one within weeks of arriving here my first time. These people aren’t at all shy about it,” replied Crowley in casual tones, as if he was discussing the weather. “Ever been to a bath house?”

“I should think not. I know what goes on there. I don’t even want to think about what you’re up to at a place like that.”

Crowley shrugged coyly. “I never said I’d been to one. I just asked if you have.”

He did so enjoy winding Aziraphale up, especially if he had to sit there across from him while he ate something as gross as a raw oyster. It was hard not to break into a huge grin at the indignant look on Aziraphale’s face. He hid his desire to break out in a mocking laugh behind his cup of wine as he took a few sips.

Aziraphale pushed the plate of oysters away with two left on it. Crowley raised an eyebrow at that. It was so unlike the angel to leave behind food of any kind. He had eaten about half of his lobster dish and expected that Aziraphale would want to finish up the rest.

“Full?”

“You make me so mad sometimes it upsets my stomach.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

There a was a bit of an awkward pause before Aziraphale examined his cup deeply as he asked, “ _Have_ you been to one?”

“A bath house? Of course. I have to spread lust somehow.” 

Aziraphale knew the demon had no modesty. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him at all, yet he blushed anyway. Crowley noticed, rolling his eyes behind that smoked glass. 

“Oh for Hell’s sake, I’m not sleeping with anyone. I’m just, uh,” he faltered a moment. “Showing off the goods. Impure thoughts give souls a bit of tarnish. Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” replied Aziraphale loftily. “I’m just interested in what I need to be thwarting.”

Since Aziraphale was asexual, it was nothing but the truth. Upon reflection, he realized he probably could have worded it better because he certainly didn’t want Crowley to think he was flirting.

“Suuure you are.”

“Actually I’m worried about the state of things. It’s only the beginning of the year and the government’s so unstable,” Aziraphale eyed Crowley shrewdly. “You don’t have a hand in that, do you?”

“I can’t divulge that information.”

“Figures. What if things fall apart?”

“All the better. A new emperor’ll be more sane. You’ve been around long enough to know it’s all cyclical.”

“You have a point. Now what?”

“We head elsewhere to wait it out.”

Governments came, governments went. Aziraphale was not comforted by that response at all. Instead, he changed the subject to something frivolous and the two drank the afternoon away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm developing their sexuality as I go along and as it fits into the stories I'm writing. I've decided at this point Aziraphale doesn't have one yet and Crowley's is just starting to develop. Crowley has more of a reason to have one -- to spread lust while I want Aziraphale to start off more naive then come into it slowly. Besides, he can be ace and still love Crowley. We'll see where things go. :)
> 
> Yes, they did eat dormice in Ancient Rome. It was considered a delicacy. But we all know Crowley's as likely to eat a rodent as he is a raw oyster.


	2. Two-Sided Sedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was very sure Aziraphale was on to him. Hopefully it was too late for the angel to thwart the plans because Hell would have Crowley’s pretty little head on a silver platter if he failed. He really didn’t look forward to any kind of punishment._

Crowley was not comfortable with the entire situation, but he could not disobey direct orders from Dagon herself. The Emperor was increasingly unstable and it was up to him to push Cassius Chaerea and his followers into actually taking action. He remained uncertain why Hell would want an unstable emperor who was spreading misery throughout the Roman Empire out of the picture, but maybe it was better that the widespread decadence and successful military campaigns continued than the whole Empire fall to pieces. He didn’t ask. It’s not like they’d bother giving him an answer. Hell appreciated him asking questions as much as Heaven used to.

Cloak sweeping behind him, he slipped out into the street after his meeting with Chaerea where he whispered in his ear with a silver tongue words meant to tempt the _chiliarch_ into assassinating Caligula, who apparently had outlived Hell’s usefulness. He felt sick to his stomach. Yes, the Emperor was insane. Yes, the whole Empire was in disarray and many hated him thanks to his failed military campaigns and constant purges, but still, Crowley would rather they assassinated him without the demon’s involvement. Something always went wrong and innocents ended up dead. He didn’t want that blood on his hands.

He headed back to his _domus_ where wine waited for him. The whole “nipped in for a quick temptation” line he gave Aziraphale had been a lie. He had been ensconced in Roman in the lap of luxury since Caligula’s madness had gotten out of hand two years ago. He had taken on the identity of a rich merchant whose business was suffering under Caligula’s rule and had slowly earned enough of Chaerea’s trust that he had his ear. He had helped push the suggestion that Caligula had to go. It was all going according to plan until the angel had stumbled upon him trying out a new establishment.

At least he kept him distracted with that whole bath house conversation. For now. He was very sure Aziraphale was on to him. Hopefully it was too late for the angel to thwart the plans because Hell would have Crowley’s pretty little head on a silver platter if he failed. He really didn’t look forward to any kind of punishment. They had figured out the best way to show their displeasure was to “ground” him to Hell for a few decades. Crowley loathed spending any amount of time there; thoughts of fifty to a hundred years of abuse from the likes of Hastur and Ligur was enough to strengthen his resolve to succeed.

This was going down in a few days before the angel could do a thing to stop it. He was determined it would.

A few minutes’ walk later found him at his _domus_ ready to fall into a chaise lounge with enough wine to see him through the night. He stalked through the front door, headed for his bedchamber, wished up enough alcohol to kill a human then settled down to drink.

Across the city, others on the opposite side of the eternal cosmic battle were just as upset over the series of events unfolding in Rome this January. Heaven was not happy with the high levels of decadence and debauchery that was spilling over from the government on to the people, nor were they pleased with the vein of general unrest flowing through the Empire. Such negative feelings gave Hell an advantage in the soul department. 

Aziraphale had just returned to his ground floor _insula_ after a disheartening discussion with consul Marcus Vinicius where he attempted his best to plead for the lives of the Empress and her year-old daughter. He realized the Emperor must go, but there was no need to exterminate his entire line – innocent lives cut short simply because of their relationships to the wrong people. It’s not like the Empress had much of a choice in whom she married or the baby in whom she was born to. Many had been sent into exile and never heard from again, he had argued. But Vinicius had retorted that if the daughter grew up to produce male issue, he would have a claim to the throne. Nobody relished the thought of one of Caligula’s line ruling the Empire. 

It didn’t help the child already had a reputation for possessing a bad temper. She was rumored to have tried to scratch the eyes out of other children who were her playmates. Caligula was particularly proud of her for this and thought the goddess Minerva was supervising his daughter’s growth. 

The angel’s protestations that she could be trained out of it if removed from the influence of her father had so far fallen on deaf ears. The worry was that her offspring just might carry on the family’s mental issues. Rome was pretty progressive when it came to the understanding and treatment of mental illness, but superstition still reigned supreme among the general population.

Pouring a cup of wine for himself, Aziraphale sat in his window looking out upon the clouds, wondering about the state of the world in the area. He had, a few decades ago, spent some time as a hermit wandering the desert and found himself looking back on that as a better time. Humans became exhausting to deal with. Good deeds were harder to make happen. Decadence reigned supreme.

Really he wished he could completely blame Crowley, but the cold fact was that humans had free will but weren’t always great at exercising it. Aziraphale did scapegoat Crowley quite a bit anyway. It was easier to pin a lot on him than actually take a look at his own black and white view of the universe while coming to terms with the idea that not everything could be stuck into a convenient box.

Well, everything was in motion, come what may. He could not stop it now. All he could do was hope for the best. Maybe the Empress and her daughter would be safe from harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite proud of this one. Five hundred words each from Crowley and Aziraphale's points of view. Not as easy as I thought it would be, lol. Boom. XD
> 
> This took a bit of research. Hopefully it's all correct because I admit not going too far in depth for the sake of a short story that's main focus is not the history but the developing relationship between the two main characters.
> 
> Caligula was assassinated in January 41 AD along with his wife and one-year-old daughter. The two members of the opposition Crowley and Aziraphale work with are real.
> 
> Crowley lived in the urban equivalent of a villa, of course. Aziraphale was in an apartment building, which existed in Rome in ancient times and housed anyone from the very poor on up through middle class families who were not rich enough to afford a _domus_. Ground floor spaces were more expensive and desired. Upper floor units were cheaper because of risk of fire and other hazards.
> 
> A _chiliarch_ is a military commander.


	3. Consequences Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Crowley rounded on Aziraphale. “Oh, the truth comes out. Spill it, angel. What were those good deeds you were doing?” He scathingly spat out “good deeds” with as much venom as he could._
> 
> _Aziraphale remained calm in the face of Crowley’s anger. “It seems Heaven and Hell had the same goals this time around. My side thought he was indulging in too much decadence and malicious behavior for the good of the citizens.”_

Crowley was quite understandably drunk when they came for him later that evening. The deed had been done, his work completed. The Emperor and his family lay dead in a shallow grave. Caligula’s lame half-deaf uncle, Claudius, was to be given the throne. Several involved in the sedition had been rounded up the same time Crowley was; Chaerea would be executed later, one of the few actual assassins who would be punished.

Placed in manacles, he was dragged off to the nearest prison, thrown in a small, dark cell then left there to await his trial and execution. Like _that_ was going to happen. He’d wait until the other inmates were asleep and the guards minimal to wish his way out of there. It’s not like he’d never been in that situation before so he just sat down to patiently wait.

He must have dozed off from all the booze. What awoke him was a harsh red light shining directly on his face. He stirred with a moan, lifting his head off the cold, stone wall behind him.

“What the hell?” he muttered, removing the wire and smoked glass contraption from in front of his eyes so he could rub them. 

“Crawly.” It was Hastur who arrived with a folded piece of parchment sealed with wax. “Here’s a Commendation for overthrowing the Emperor. Congrats. Dagon would like you to stay to get executed. Our men are in place now. It’s time for the sedition to end. There’s a promise of a new body immediately in here if you do.” He wiggled the parchment.

“What? No. I’m used to this body and executions are usually painful, especially around here where they get creative. What if I don’t?” Crowley broke the seal on the parchment and read it.

“If you don’t, expect a demotion to torture room clean up duty for the next fifty years.”

“Well, if you’re going to put it like that.”

Hastur took that as a “yes” and disappeared along with the light.

He wasn’t expecting the door of his cell to open again and was mildly surprised when another person was shoved in the small area with him.

“Watch the cloak!” said a familiar voice testily. “It’s quite expensive.”

“Aziraphale? Is that you?”

“Crowley? Why are you in here?”

“Treason. I kind of plotted to assassinate the Emperor. My lot would prefer I actually went through with the execution to quell any more thoughts of sedition.” Crowley moved over on the small stone bench he occupied to make room for the angel. “You?”

“Same thing,” Aziraphale said in a quiet, sheepish manner.

Crowley rounded on Aziraphale. “Oh, the truth comes out. Spill it, angel. What were those good deeds you were doing?” He scathingly spat out “good deeds” with as much venom as he could. 

Aziraphale remained calm in the face of Crowley’s anger. “It seems Heaven and Hell had the same goals this time around. My side thought he was indulging in too much decadence and malicious behavior for the good of the citizens.”

“Well that’s great for your lot. Glad they could make things work out. At least it was just one woman and child this time who had to die instead of a whole region of people.”

“Crowley, please.”

“Will it be worth it?”

“What?”

“Having their deaths on your conscious just to maybe possibly make a better world? I thought every life was sacred.”

“I do not have their deaths on my conscious. I begged for their exile, if you must know. I am sorry that didn’t happen, but I won’t take blame for their murders at the hands of humans. You shouldn’t, either.”

Crowley turned away with a haunted look even his primitive dark glasses could not disguise. Aziraphale felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he should have tried harder. Maybe he should have just taken the time to spirit the two of them away somehow. Maybe he was too passive sometimes while Crowley was too passionate. Not that second-guessing the entire messed up situation was going to soothe the soul of either one of them.

“I don’t,” said the demon, but Aziraphale knew better. 

They didn’t speak again until morning when they were taken away to be tried by an obvious kangaroo court returning a verdict in a short amount of time with a sentence to be thrown this coming midnight from the Tarpeian Rock. The Romans never executed people at night. Aziraphale suspected that Crowley had had a mind-alerting hand in getting the time changed. He wondered what the demon was up to.

“You pushed them to change the time of the execution, didn’t you?” he asked when they were back in their cell alone.

“Of course.”

“We’re going to fall to our deaths, uhh, discorporations anyway. Why does it matter?”

Crowley glared at him over the tops of his glasses. “Sometimes you’re so clever and sometimes you are incredibly stupid. You know that, angel?”

Aziraphale shifted on the cold bench, irritated. “I guess I didn’t. Enlighten me on how I’m acting stupid this time around.”

Crowley laughed softly, a hint of mockery in it. He was dragging this out as long as possible before giving the obvious hint. Aziraphale sat there in the dim light of the cell giving him a puzzled look. 

Crowley gave a dramatic sigh. “I guess what they say about blonds is true. For the love of the green Earth, what are you?”

“I’m a book-roll seller who’s about to be….”

“More basic than that.”

“An angel?”

“There you go!” exclaimed Crowley. “They keep talking about _shoving_ us off that cliff, but not one damn word has been said about us actually _hitting_ the ground below.”

“Oh!” laughed Aziraphale, finally understanding. “I guess we won’t be needing those new bodies after all.”

The next morning there was some confusion when the men sent to collect the bodies of the executed from the foot of the Tarpeian Rock found neither hide nor feather of either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tarpeian Rock was an area of execution used in Ancient Rome only to execute those guilty of a handful of offenses, treason being one of them.
> 
> I’ll leave it to you to decide if Crowley got away with his little prank by not exactly getting executed or got fifty years clean-up duty. Maybe he was able to convince his bosses that he did, in fact, get executed since he let the humans throw him off the cliff, but nobody said anything about being required to hit the ground.


End file.
